


Per Hour

by Ylith



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylith/pseuds/Ylith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from a prompt on the Inception Kink Meme:   </p><p>Prompt: Arthur is a cop who poses as an underage prostitute in order to catch johns. Eames lives in the neighborhoods where Arthur works and is constantly interfering. Trying to get Arthur out of prostitution, trying to hook him up with other jobs, or just scaring off johns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eames' jaw clenched as he walked out of the social club. He should have just walked away with the bloody money, but that one last hand, the possibility in one last play too much of a temptation as always. It wasn't the money, not really. It was losing in general which set him off. 

Eames hated losing.

He lumbered on down the street, trying to decide if he wanted to go to a bar or the boxing gym he trained in. Deciding he’d had enough to drink that night; he made his way to the gym. Unfortunately, after dark this part of town had become prevalent for prostitution. Most of them were pretty sly about it, dressed classy or worked out of bars and posed as pretty patrons, but then there were others.

The kid was practically asking to get arrested, he was so bloody obvious. He was wearing sweatpants with the word “juicy” written across the seat. They were slung so low that the upper curve of his ass was bared, the dusky hint of cleft visible. His upper body was barely covered by a ratty white tank top. Jesus, Eames probably had suits older than this kid, but that apparently wasn’t deterring the balding man talking to him. The man looked like he used to be built, his bulk in process of changing from muscle to fat for whatever reason, likely drinking if his guy was any indication. He had one arm propped up against the building beside them, his head bent down as he talked to the hustler in hushed tones. 

Eames stopped walking, leaning against a mailbox and lighting a cigarette as he watched them with furrowed brows. The hustler turned, his shoulders pressed against the building but hips pushed forward. He had a lollypop in his mouth, his tongue flickering against it with a little shrug. He guy reached forward to touch his face but the kid tilted away with a shake of his head, saying something with a wry smile and lifted brow. Eames let loose a stream of cigarette smoke, his lips curling in disgust as he guy reached down and gripped himself as though to demonstrate his size. 

He’d had enough. Eames placed the cigarette between his lips and moved towards them, hands in his coat pockets. He strolled right up to them in a manner so bold it took a moment for the pair of them to realize he was standing there listening to them. It was the kid who saw him first, quick glances with confusion knitting his brows ever so slightly. His curved lips pouty were becoming a hard line as he realized Eames wasn’t going to leave. The burly man then turned to him, his face flushed with more than frustration. “Can I help you, Chief?”

Eames nodded, taking a long drag. “You can step away from the child,” he said with pursed lips.

The kid’s eyes narrowed at him, the lollypop lowered and one arm wrapped across his chest. He didn’t speak.

Burly man glanced from the Eames to the kid and then back again. “My friend and I are just talking. Mind your business, Bub.” He waved Eames off and turned back to the kid and placed his arm back on the wall, assuming Eames would take the hint. Eames had other plans.

“I tend to think keeping a little boy from a pedophile is anyone’s business,” Eames countered, stepping forward and beginning to wedge himself between the man and the kid. “So why don’t you fuck.” Eames pulled his mobile out of his pockets, pressing the camera button on the side and snapping a quick photo before the man could hide his face. “Before I call the cops and show them this.”

Redness crept up the man’s neck, his whole body tense with anger. Eames knew the guy was sizing him up, and also knew that if the man had half a brain he wouldn’t for a second think he could take him. Eames wasn’t the tallest man but he was thick with hard muscle, he knew the intensity he projected when making a point. The man looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to hit him, but he settled for a glare and a huff before storming off. 

He turned back to the kid, who didn’t look too pleased either, unsurprisingly. The kid threw the lollypop into a nearby garbage can, his playful smirk long gone. “You just wasted two hours of my time,” he said flatly.

“And what, a hundred bucks? One fifty?”

The kid straightened a bit at that, the hardness melting from his eyes and a fingertip finding its way between his teeth. “Why do you want to know?” he asked. The question ‘you asking for yourself’ implied in a little cant of his hips.  
“I’d hope this isn’t news to you,” Eames said, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall beside him. “But hooking is really dangerous, not to mention a felony.”

“Misdemeanor, actually,” the kid cut him, looking very bored. 

“Yeah well you could easily get killed first,” Eames said with a sigh. “You’re a good looking kid, I’m sure you could easily get a job almost anywhere…a job that doesn’t come with a risk of transmitted diseases.”

The kid stared at him unblinking for a moment, finally giving him one heavy nod and a salute. “Thanks for the advice, man,” he said, walking away. Eames watched him leave, this small victory actually soothing his previous failure in some regards. He decided to just go home and have a beer.

His second encounter with the kid came only two days later, in a bar down the street from his apartment. He’d gone in to have a drink after a long day, in no hurry to return back to his empty flat. He rested an elbow against the bar top, drink in one hand and casually surveying the room. Force of habit, really.

And there he was, this time in dark tight filling jeans and a snug navy tee. He was standing in the back near the bathrooms, like he could have been waiting for someone to get out, but his eyes were fixed on the entrance, gaze unwavering. Eames took a sip of his drink with narrowed eyes, watching the kid’s face intently. He saw the kid’s gaze intensify before his face set into a playful smile, his body language shifting as he moved his hands from his front to his back pockets, his lower lip finding its way between his teeth. The man who approached him was in brown leather jacket and tan slacks, his dark blond hair slicked back. He moved steadily towards the kid, but glanced around as he walked, his hands in his pockets and his posture rigid. 

Eames watched the blond man come to stand before the kid, the crowded room forcing them close. The kid tilted his head towards the small hallway beside them, and the man followed him into it. Eames moved quickly now that he was out of their line of sight, bringing his drink with him. He could see blondie’s jacket peeking out from the hallway, so he stood with his back propped against the wall perpendicular to him. He sipped, listening to their conversation, thankful that the noise of the crowd was dimmed in their corner. 

“Sorry,” the kid said, and Eames guessed he was all dimples and idle hair play from his tone of voice. “I just wanna make sure I got this right up front….how much did we say again?”

“Seventy-five” blondie said, his voice almost high pitched but still sounding gruff. His jacket was oddly pushed out behind him making Eames guess he had his hands on his hips. “But depending on services rendered…I may go higher.”

“Fantastic,” the kid said. “And what was it that you wanted to do, exactly?”

There was a pause, and Blondie’s jacket moved again as he glanced backwards over a shoulder to make sure no one was watching them. Eames turned his body away from them in case he looked, and caught sight of a tall dark skinned man sitting at one of the tall bar tables, no drink in his hands and no one keeping him company. His gaze, however, was fixed on the hallway where the kid and blondie were, one arm resting on the tabletop. Was he the kid’s pimp, perhaps? He’d think it was just coincidence but the guy’s gaze was so…expectant.

“Wanted some head,” Blondie was saying. “You swallow?”

“No swallowing and no kissing,” the kid said, his tone still easy going and pleasant, almost like he was sad to disappoint the guy. 

“Can I…” the guy trailed off and glanced over his shoulder again. He said the next bit a little more quietly but Eames could make out he was asking to cum on the kid’s face. Eames raised his brows in mock surprise at blondie’s forwardness, mouthing ‘well well well’ to himself and taking a sip of his drink. 

“That what you want to do?” the kid asked coyly. 

Eames decided to interrupt their little party, turning on his heel and ambling down the hall. He took a sip while he walked, strolling up to the two of them like he was headed for the toilets. Blondie shifted away from him, purposefully not looking at him, but the kid glanced over, his expression turning stony. He kept his eyes focused on blondie, Eames could almost hear him thinking “keep moving, asshole,” but the poor kid was going to have to be disappointed. 

Eames stopped, exaggeratedly doing a double take on the kid and pointing at him with a finger. “Well what a coincidence! Been a long time since I’ve seen you, how’s your mum?”

The kid looked at him with a huff, his arms crossing. “I really don’t have time for this.”

“On the clock already, are we?” Eames asked, brow cocked. 

Blondie was squinting at him now, his arms also crossing over his chest but more as a nervous gesture. He licked his lips, eyes darting from the kid to Eames. “What…what is this?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” the kid said, rolling his eyes and letting his head drop back in exasperation. Then to Eames, “do you mind? You’re interrupting our date.”

Eames scoffed, finishing his drink in one swallow. He gestured at blondie with his empty glass, giving him a once over. “I thought a date meant you paid for the food, not the guy.”

Blondie’s hands shot up, immediately denying what Eames was implying, and Eames almost missed the frustrated glance the kid shot over his would be patron’s shoulder into the bar behind them. 

“Fuck.Off.” the kid ground out at him, his eyes narrowed. It made him look older.

But Blondie was already spooked, and with a quick “sorry, man” he was backing away from them and bee lining to the door. The kid watched him leave, not bothering to go after him, which Eames found a little surprising. 

The kid let his forehead fall to rest against the wall with a thump. He raked his fingers through his wavy dark hair and then leveled a glare on Eames. “This ends. Now.” 

Eames shrugged, his lips pursing. “You’re the one engaged in illegal activity, darling. Saw a sign on the door that they need help here….if you’re old enough to work in a bar, that is.”

The kid narrowed his eyes for a second before turning to walk away. 

“How much for an hour?” Eames called after him. 

The kid stopped, stilling for a second before turning back to him, that sly little smile spread across his face. “How much for what?” he asked, his brows arching innocently. 

“For your pleasurable company,” Eames clarified. 

The kid sighed, his head tilting to the side and his pouty lips pushing out in exaggerated confusion. “Can’t say I know what you mean,” he said. 

Eames took a step towards him, the kid not moving a muscle. “What’s your name, darling?”

This time the kid did hesitate. “Arthur,” he said in a hushed tone. 

“Arthur,” Eames purred. “I’m assuming after I pay my fee you are mine to do as I wish for an hour?”

Arthur took a step closer to him, biting his lower lip and giving him the full power doe eyes. “Well…I’m going to have to know what it is you want to do...”

“We’re going to go up to the bar” Eames said, his voice low and raspy. “Have a talk with Yusuf the owner, and see if we can get you a job here. Put those dimples to work on housewives and respectable blokes. Think of all the money you’ll save on condoms and bail.”

The kid…Arthur…stared at him intently, studying him without the pretense of seduction. “What’s your deal?” he asked. “Are you being serious, having a Richard Gere moment, or what?”

Eames sighed, shaking his head. “Just a bloke who sees a kid wasting himself. Don’t you want more than this?” He gestured in the direction blondie had made his escape in. 

Arthur’s brows were furrowed, but not in anger. He stood rigidly another moment before finally softening. He brushed his hair back from his eyes and sighed resolutely. “Thanks for the offer,” he said, patting Eames in the center of his chest. “If you’re honest you’re a breath of fresh air, but trust me.” He leaned in closer to Eames, his breath hot on the other man’s ear. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Arthur’s hand slid to his shoulder, gripping him there in a farewell as he walked off. Eames wanted to grab him, to stop him. He was a good looking kid, a few years older and Eames might be able to ask him out without feeling like a pervert. If nothing else, maybe the kid would let him teach him how to box in case a John got rough with him. That and one day walk away from this shit. One thing was for sure, Eames had every intention of cock blocking him if he happened to run into him again. 

The next time he saw Arthur, he was working out. Arthur was walking past wide gym windows, back in his clingy sweats and a cropped red shirt that looked ridiculous but showed off his flat belly and ass rather nicely. He was walking next to the black guy he’d seen at the bar the other night. The man dressed in a baggy grey t-shirt and sweats. They were talking; or rather Arthur was listening with a cigarette dangling between his lips. The guy put a hand on the small of his back, directing him and gesturing down the street with his other hand. 

Eames immediately stopped the treadmill he’d been running on, his shirt clinging to him with sweat as he jogged out the door, almost running Joel his sparring partner down. He waved in apology but didn’t stop, rushing outside, eyes searching down the block. Arthur and the guy were getting into the back of a black sedan, the car driving off before Eames could manage to reach them. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, wiping sweat from the back of his neck as he walked back to the gym to collect his things. 

“What was that about?” Joel asked, sitting on a bench and lacing his trainers. 

Eames shrugged him off. “Nothing,” he said. “You wanna spar?”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

That night when he walked home, he kept an eye out for Arthur or his friend in the sweats. By the time he reached his building, he was convinced it would be a bust, but then he saw a little flash of red down the street and stopped. Sure enough, there was Arthur in the hideous cropped shirt, his sweats now replaced by tiny boyshorts riding down below his sharp hipbones. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet stuffed into Ugg Boots. 

He was with a couple other boys and two girls, the others just as ridiculously dressed as he was. The two girls teetered on sky high heels, their breasts barely contained by their dresses. A car pulled up and they all looked, one of the girls walking carefully towards it and waved to the driver. She “adjusted” her tiny top, leaning forward towards the driver but soon stood, shaking her head to her fellow hookers as the car drove off. She raised her hands in the air, likely in exasperation. She and the other girl linked arms and they walked off further down the street, leaving Arthur and the two boys. 

Eames took a few steps forward, careful to stay far enough back so that Arthur wouldn’t spot him. The three boys talked together for a bit, all of them standing straight when a car rolled by. All of a sudden, Arthur’s friend from the bar got out of an SUV and walked over to them, his hands in his pockets. All three boys turned to face him, listening intently as he talked. He gestured with his hands to the sidewalk beneath them, then down the street. The two other boys nodded and immediately moved away, walking down the street in the direction the other two girls had gone. 

He now spoke with Arthur, tapping the kid on the side of his chest before gesturing pointedly with a finger at his face. Arthur was nodding, his hands on his hips. The guy put a hand on Arthur’s arm, pulling him a little closer to speak quietly into his ear, stepping back and as soon as Arthur responded, he made his way back to the SUV. 

Definitely the pimp, Eames decided. It was also becoming clearer as to why Arthur was so hesitant to leave; why he seemed to think he didn’t need help. Eames smirked as he digested this new bit of information, happy for the extra ammunition for his next encounter. He moved forwards, his footing sure and determined as his gaze focused on Arthur. The kid was standing with his hands clasped before him, one shoulder pushed up boyishly. He was watching the cars expectantly, waiting for his next client if Eames had to guess. 

Arthur glanced over when Eames was in arm’s reach, his face only having a split second to cloud with anger before Eames took him by the upper arm, dragging him back towards the alley. 

“What the fuck!” Arthur cried out, trying to wrench his arm from Eames’ steely grip. “Let me go…fuck, I don’t have time for this shit now.” 

Eames kept hold of Arthur’s arm, fingers tight around the soft flesh of his upper arm. He could feel his bones, Jesus he was skinny. The kid went to hit him but Eames easily blocked it and caught his wrist, pushing him further into the alley way. “Easy,” he said, trying to calm the young man. “Calm down.”

“Calm down my ass” Arthur cut in, jerking away from him and trying to knee him in the balls. “Get the fuck off me, man!” Eames released his arms and raised his palms, Arthur no longer struggling and instead smoothing down his cut off shirt, his eyes flashing angrily at the other man. Eames saw how his skin prickled in the cool air and unzipped his sweater, pulling it off and wrapping his arms around the slim youth to drape the sweater over his shoulders. 

Arthur looked up at him with impatient irritation, his leg bouncing and lips a thin line. Eames could tell he was about to chastise him further, turn and walk away in a huff so he spoke quickly. 

“Hear me out,” he said, the fingertips of one hand pressing lightly against Arthur’s narrow chest. They both glanced down at it, and bloody hell but those ridiculous shorts showed how slight he was. 

“I do not fucking have time for this,” Arthur ground out. “You’re really making it difficult to-“

“That guy from the bar, he’s your pimp right?” Eames asked, not giving him time to respond. “You think you can’t leave, that he won’t let you go, but if you’re scared I can help you.”

Arthur threw his sweater back at him, his hands coming to rest on Eames’ upper arms. “Look, this whole act is sweet, but you really don’t understand-”

Eames shook his head, a hand coming up as he shut his eyes in frustration. He leaned in closer to Arthur, his tone hushed to force Arthur to really listen to him. “I don’t know what he told you, but I’ve got connections. You need money to pay him off?”

Arthur shook his head, a hand shooting up to finally grip Eames by the jaw. “Would you shut the fuck up?” he hissed, eyes darting towards the street. “Listen to me…seriously…this is all very noble, but I’m telling you, you’ve got it all wrong.” His head nodded slowly, his brows raised as though Eames would be able to interpret the magical meaning of his words. 

“Arthur, what the fuck?” 

Both of them turned towards the street and Eames’ eyes narrowed when he saw the black guy from earlier, his arms raised at his sides palms up. He eyed Eames carefully, taking three steps forward and reaching back towards his waistband. Eames stiffened, a reaction Arthur must have caught because he was stepping in front of him, one hand against his chest and one raised to the other man. 

“It’s ok, Idris,” he said, his voice steady. 

“You missed the pass, man…BMW left.”

Arthur cursed under his breath, keeping his one hand on Eames’ chest while he rubbed his face tiredly with the other. “I’ll be right there, just give me a second? Call it in and we’ll head back to the motel.”

The man, Idris, nodded; his narrowed gaze on Eames, distrustfully. “You alright?” he asked, gesturing towards Eames. 

Arthur nodded, sighing in relief when the other man finally turned and walked away. He swung his head back to Eames and leveled a firm look at him. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice softening. 

“Eames,” Eames said, his arms crossing when Arthur finally pulled his hand away. He stood stock still, head leaning forward to get just an inch closer to the kid, overcome with the urge to wrap his sweater around him again. Arthur looked older as he studied him, his brows knit. 

“Eames,” Arthur repeated, and Eames couldn’t help but revel at the sound of his name rolling off the kid’s tongue. “Well, Mr. Eames,” Arthur continued. “Like I said, I really appreciate the efforts you’ve made to help me, but you have nothing to worry about. I’m a cop.”


	3. Chapter 3

Eames’ head gave a tiny shake, his eyes narrowing as he gave the kid a once over. What the hell was he playing at…

“A cop,” Eames deadpanned; his voice gravelly in disbelief. 

Arthur nodded, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up to his sternum to reveal a wire carefully taped to his chest just above a dusky nipple. “My badge is in the car,” he said with a sly little smirk. He quickly pulled the shirt back down and gestured to Eames. “Give me your fucking sweater,” he ordered, his shoulders pushed up against the steadily cooling air. 

Eames did as he was told, this time handing it to the kid…wait…if he was a cop then he couldn’t be a kid after all. Eames felt like he did when he’d hit but should have stayed, like he should have fucking known better and just left well enough alone. “A cop…” he said again, more to himself than Arthur. 

“That’s right,” Arthur said, pulling the sweater on and wrapping it about his chest, his arms folding to keep it in place. “Been on the force for about five years, this is my seventh sting operation, and I’ll be twenty-seven in February.”

Eames cocked his head to the side, Arthur’s impish smile infectious and he felt a broad grin spread across his own face. He covered his mouth with one hand, an old habit to hide his crooked teeth. “Fuck off, you’re having me on.”

Arthur sighed, finally looking a little relaxed and Eames felt like he was looking at him for the first time. He raked a hand through his hair and looked again at Arthur, who was looking very much amused as the reality of the situation finally began to sink in. “You look like you’re bloody fifteen,” he said, brows arched as he looked down at Arthur’s slight form which was currently swamped by his sweater. 

“That’s kind of the point,” Arthur said. “Can’t really play an underage prostitute without passably being underage. I’m the youngest looking guy at the precinct, so my prize is getting to stand on a street corner looking like a trailer skank.” He opened the sweater for dramatic effect, as if the skimpy outfit beneath wasn’t already embedded into Eames’ brain. 

Arthur closed the sweater and Eames shifted his weight, lips pursing. “Then that other guy was….”

“My partner,” Arthur said. “We usually work out of a motel room; we have a website with pictures and a phone number. The Johns call in…they ask where to meet me, I ask what they want they ask how much…then they go to the room and after we go through the whole song and dance again to establish probable cause, I go into the bathroom and my partner Elba and Johnson go in and make the arrest.”

“And now you’re on the street,” Eames said, mentally picturing Arthur waggling his tight little ass in those god awful shorts before going into the bathroom, the John thinking he was sixty seconds from bliss when instead he is promptly introduced to officer cockblock….or Elba as Arthur had said. 

Arthur was nodding, and Eames finally noticed the lines at the sides of his eyes when he squinted, the teenage image slipping now that the façade had been made clear to him. Arthur’s shoulders scrunched up again, eyes darting quickly towards the street. “Child trafficking is on the rise, most of it out on the street. We’ve had to switch up our methods, but it’s harder out here, cause we’re solicitors who can’t ‘actually’ solicit, you know? That’s why it pisses me off when crazy civilians keep getting in my way.”

Eames rarely felt sheepish, but little Officer Arthur was making him feel quite small at the moment. The only saving grace was that warm smile Arthur was casting him, genuine warmth reaching his eyes. He reached a finely boned hand out, clasping it on Eames’ shoulder. 

“Personally though,” he said, a hand pressing over his own chest where the wire was taped to muffle the sound. “It was kind of cute how you tried to be my Knight in shining armor.” He slid a thumb over the front of Eames’ shoulder before finally releasing him and Eames found himself missing the contact.

Eames might have missed some of Arthur’s cues earlier, but he always knew when he was being flirted with. He smiled, hands in his pockets and hips rocking forwards as he glanced down the alley, half expecting Officer Elba to be standing there ready to interrupt or chastise him for even dreaming he had a chance with someone like Arthur. But Elba was still in the SUV, and Arthur was still standing there wearing his sweater, expression something along the line of expectant. 

“Fuck,” Eames groaned, his foot kicking against the filthy pavement below them. “I guess I should be happy, yeah?” He never had minded getting in the cops’ way before, but when it came to fucking kids…well there was crime and then there was that. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, head slumping down. “Jesus…you could have arrested those guys, the ones I-”

Arthur waved a hand at him, taking off his sweater with a reluctant shiver when the cool air touched his heated skin. “Hindsight is 20/20,” he said, handing the sweater to Eames. “You thought you were helping, and if I’d been a real hooker you could have very well saved my life. So really, thank you for trying, you have no idea how much that meant to a jaded guy like me.” Arthur was stepping closer to him, arms crossed over his chest again and dark hair falling in his face. He tilted his head up, nearly close enough for Eames to lean in and kiss those pouty lips. 

Eames cocked his head and his brow, knowing how charming he could be when he really put his mind to it. “Mean enough to give me your number? Go get a drink with me tonight?”

Arthur bit his lips, glancing down to his chest where the wire was taped, and Eames realized that in all likelihood Elba was sitting in the SUV listening to their whole conversation. He hoped Arthur wouldn’t get shit for this, but was selfish enough to not care so long as it got him the cop’s digits. 

Arthur’s voice was low, all business and authority, but his bedroom eyes and dimples betrayed him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Eames; but while on duty I cannot accept solicitations for recreational activity such as dating.” Again Arthur covered the wire’s mic with one hand, his head leaning in and husky voice low. “But if you happen to be at McNulty’s tavern on 8th at 11 tonight, I will be more at liberty to talk about it.”

Eames grinned, his tongue peeking out between his teeth. “Sure thing, officer,” he said, offering a small salute. 

Arthur told him to stay put and jogged over to the SUV. Eames felt completely confident in watching his ass in those micro shorts now that he knew the guy wasn’t a fucking child. His hands were in his pockets, and he ambled closer to the street, taking his sweet time. Soon enough Arthur was running back, a large grey sweater zipped up and hanging to mid thigh. When he reached Eames again his cheeks were pink, his breath coming in short little pants which did wonderful things to Eames’ cock. He held a white card out between two long fingers, directed to Eames’ chest. “You see any other kids you call me, ok?”

Eames looked down at the card and carefully plucked it from Arthur’s hand. He looked at it with a crooked brow. Arthur Kirschenbaum. “Jesus,” Eames balked at the surname. “A lot for a little thing like you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at him, unimpressed. “Just Arthur,” he said. “That’s what everyone calls me.” And then he was gone, jogging back to the SUV again. Eames stared at the card before putting it in his pocket, walking with an easy gait to the street, coming to a stop at the sidewalk. He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapping one out and placing it between his lips. He glances towards the SUV and sees Arthur and Elba sitting inside, Elba’s upper body twisted towards Arthur, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. He reached forward and ruffled Arthur’s hair, earning himself a backhanded slap to the chest. Elba laughed heartily, and Eames swore he could hear him even from this distance amidst the traffic and pedestrian noise. Eames was almost jealous. Almost.


End file.
